As a Rohingya, the pain we carry is like walking through a dark tunnel with no end in sight. Each step is heavy with fear, each breath uncertain. There are no doors to safety, no hands reaching out. Just endless waiting, endless hope.
This is not just my pain but it’s the pain of all of our people, buried deep in our hearts, lived in silence every single day. We don’t want pity. We want dignity. We want peace. We want the world to finally see us.
Most of my current writing tries to help those with mental health challenges to overcome low self-esteem, both within their own minds and in the minds of others.
I’ve lived with bipolar disorder for over fifty years and have for twenty-five years worked to reduce the stigma attached to mental illness.
In an effort to build awareness in the church I founded the Living Room peer support ministry in 2006.
As a Rohingya, the pain we carry is like walking through a dark tunnel with no end in sight. Each step is heavy with fear, each breath uncertain. There are no doors to safety, no hands reaching out. Just endless waiting, endless hope.
This is not just my pain but it’s the pain of all of our people, buried deep in our hearts, lived in silence every single day. We don’t want pity. We want dignity. We want peace. We want the world to finally see us.